


Hereditary Affliction

by NastyBambino



Series: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Dark Peter Parker, Dark Tony Stark, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Murder, Parent/Child Incest, Serial Killer Tony Stark, Spanking, Starkercest Bingo 2020, spanking as punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NastyBambino/pseuds/NastyBambino
Summary: Curiosity always kills the cat.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495130
Comments: 4
Kudos: 218
Collections: Starkercest Bingo 2020





	1. O1-Line Prompt

**Author's Note:**

> I present my only entry for the starkercest bingo lmao. I tried my hardest, I know it's rough, but it's decent enough and it's DONE. All mistakes mine. Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, Peter wonders about his grandfather Howard, wonders just what runs in the family. Wonders if murder is something Stark men have always done, even as he does his best to mimic his father’s knife strokes in his victim’s skin. He wonders and wonders, gaze unseeing even though it’s locked on the sobbing man’s eyes. “Maybe I should as Daddy about it,” he mutters to himself.

He knows he’s rushed the torture, that he’s not as practiced as his dad, not as elegant. He still shakes when he pours the iron in his victim’s mouth, when he’s choking to death and burning on the inside. Peter’s proud that he only throws up once when cleaning up the mess left behind. He carves a little _p_ into skin where it’ll be seen on a whim. They’ll know it’s a copycat, but maybe his dad will figure out it’s him, that he knows what he’s been trying to protect Peter from. He makes the 911 call from a burner phone with too many layers of encryption on it then turns it off to dispose of later. He takes a steadying breath before biking home to wait for his dad.

He doesn’t have to wait long for the story to appear on the news, and he can’t help a little smile at being called a copycat of the “Iron Man”. They focus on the little _p_ left behind and what it could mean. Peter just smiles and waits. His dad comes home early, and his heart speeds up at the look on his face, feeling anxious and confused at the grim expression. “H-Hey Dad.” Tony shrugs off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

“We need to have a talk, Peter Benjamin,” he says gravely. Peter swallows nervously as he sits down on the coffee table in front of him. He mutes the tv then gestures to it. “What is this?” He swallows again and sits silently. “I know it was you, Peter. That little letter you left behind.” His lip curls slightly. “The sloppiness.” Peter looks down, feeling his eyes burn with tears. “Why?”

“ ** _I just wanted to make you proud._** ” Tony shakes his head and moves to sit next to him.

“Over my knee.” Peter’s head snaps up, and he starts shaking his head, eyes wide.

“Dad, please, I’m sor-“ Tony cut him off.

“You could have jeopardized us _both_ , Peter. I’m not telling you again. You are in enough trouble as it is.” He shakes as he lays himself over his lap, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Sixteen years old and about to get a spanking like a child. Tony shoves his sweats and boxers down to his knees, leaving his bare ass exposed to the air. He doesn’t bother warming up, not with the severity of the situation. His first smack takes the air out of Peter’s lungs and already has his eyes watering.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers. Tony sighs.

“You will be.” He brings his hand down again, not resting after the first smack. By 10, Peter is openly sobbing. By 15, his face is covering in snot and tears, and apologies are blubbering out of his mouth. By 20, when his father is done, he’s shredded his throat from crying and yelping. His father immediately starts comforting him after, letting Peter kick off his clothes so that he can wrap himself around him and sob into his shoulder. He’s held close, and Tony rubs his back, rocking and shushing him. “It’s okay. It’s over now. That’s it. All is forgiven. I still love you.” He only whimpers and clings tighter.

It takes him a while to calm down, never one to handle the disappointment well on top of such a brutal punishment. “I’m sorry,” he rasps again, sniffling and wiping at his face. Tony runs a hand through Peter’s hair and kisses his forehead.

“You could have seriously gotten hurt and gotten us in trouble.” He sighs. “I tried to protect you from this only to almost lose you to it.” Peter shakes his head vehemently.

“I-I could have just told you. I just…I wanted to make you proud. I really did.” Tony smiles slightly.

“I don’t want this for you, Peter.” His shoulders slump slightly at the words, resisting a small pout.

“Can we at least talk about it?” Tony runs his fingers through his hair and gives him a critical look.

“Tomorrow. I think we could both use some sleep.”

“Can…Can I sleep in your bed tonight? Please?” He smiles softly.

“Sure kiddo.”


	2. B2-"Will you teach me?"

Things are… _different_ after the punishment, after Tony finds out that Peter knows his secret. Peter sees more of the cold side of his father, the danger lurking underneath disarming smiles and charming words that is reserved for anyone he deems unworthy of the life they were given. Some departures read differently to him now that he knows, and he can see the tension in Tony’s body when he leaves then the lack of it when he comes back. One night, Peter perches on the edge of the toilet as he watches his father shave.

 **“Will you teach me?”** he asks suddenly, almost not registering the words until they leave his mouth. Tony pauses his movements and glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Teach you what, Peter?” he replies carefully. He swallows and closes his eyes momentarily to steady himself.

“How to kill. How to be better.” Things are quiet for a while afterward, Tony taking his time to finish shaving and Peter wringing his hands in his lap as his eyes dart around the room anxiously. Neither of them speaks again until Tony’s wiping his face clean.

“I’m not sure you’re able to handle this, Peter. Or that you really know what you’re getting into beyond that mess you made a few days ago.” Matching eyes meet Peter’s, an odd mix of the coldness of a killer and the warmth of his father. He squeezes his hands together the stop the trembling. Tony cups his cheek, and he leans into it gratefully. “How long have you been thinking about this?” Peter meets his gaze earnestly.

“Ever since I found out.” Tony presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Think about it a little while longer. If you’re still sure in a week or two, then come to me about it again. And I’ll show you.” Peter nods.

Peter takes the advisement to heart, going a week and a half before approaching his dad about it again. He curls up with him on the couch, taking comfort in the contact despite the subject matter. Tony doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around him and bury his nose in his son’s hair. Neither of them speaks for a few moments, and it’s Peter who breaks the silence. “I want you to teach me,” he says with conviction. “Please. I want to be as good as you.” Tony lets out a huff of a chuckle.

“I’ve been doing this for years, kiddo,” he reminds. “Eventually you’re going to have to make your own mark on this world.” The thought has Peter smiling slightly to himself. “Maybe with the spiders you like so much.” He nods against Tony’s shoulder.

“Maybe. I have to learn first, right?” Another chuckle and a nod.

“Lucky for you I have someone waiting in the lab.” He gently dislodges Peter before helping him up from the couch. “Are you ready?” He nods eagerly and grips his father’s hand, following him down to his lab. His skin prickles with anticipation and anxiety, practically vibrating out of it. He hears the person struggling the moment the sound-proof door opens, hears the panicked whines and the scrape of the chair. His stomach rolls (with disgust or excitement, he’s not too sure). He stares at the middle-aged man as they walk in, staring straight into his pleading eyes.

“What did he do?” Tony lets go of his hand and goes around behind their captive, hands clamping down on his shoulders.

“This little waste of space,” he chuckles cruelly, “decided that age doesn’t matter. Even got off with just probation. A shame, really.” Peter watches him dig his fingers into his skin, hears the pained cry that follows. He can’t feel any sympathy beyond knowing how strong his dad is. “ ‘Mere, Pete.” He walks over dutifully, curiously.

“What are we going to do with him?” Tony gives him an encouraging smile.

“Whatever you’d like Peter. I’ll guide you the whole way.” He pulls out a key and opens one of the workshop drawers, showing a multitude of pristine instruments from scalpels to saws to hammers and nails. He keeps a hand on Peter’s lower back as he looks over it all, eyes widening a bit at all of his options. He picks up a curved knife and looks at it in the light before turning to Tony.

“This one.” Tony hums his assent and leads him back around to their victim, his father taking him by the hair and yanking his head up. The look he gives him is cold and piercing, and even Peter shivers at it.

“You should feel honored. You won’t end up a waste of life after all.” The scent of urine startles him slightly; Tony doesn’t acknowledge it with so much as a twitch. “Be good for my boy.” He drops his head and goes to Peter instead, leading him to take his place. “I prefer to use this knife on the front. A lot to cut into.” He nods and watches him slice through the man’s shirt with a box cutter, baring his heaving chest to them. His father presses against his back and covers the hand holding the knife with his own, free arm curling around his waist to anchor him and keep him steady.

“Don’t be nervous, okay?” Tony reassures gently. “I’m here with you.”

Time passes in a blur as he’s taught the proper way to use many of the tools Tony has (mainly knives), his father guiding him the whole way on how deep to cut, where to cut to keep him from bleeding out, how to keep himself steady for pretty lines. His arms and clothes are drenched in blood by the time Tony decides they’re done, and he watches him with awe as he pours the iron down his throat to finish him off. He still feels a little sick (some of it caused by his father’s cold smile as he burns alive), but he feels close to his father in a way he’s never felt, like he knows him completely.

“Come here,” Tony orders quietly, intense eyes on Peter with a look he doesn’t want to identify. He hesitates for a moment before walking over to him and being taken into blood-covered arms. He tries to hide in Tony’s chest, but instead his chin is taken between two fingers, his face lifted until he’s looking directly into matching eyes. His breath hitches when eyes focus on his lips.

“Dad?” he asks, voice cracking and unsure. “Daddy?”

He feels lips against his.

His father is kissing him.


	3. N1-Non Con/Dub Con

_His father is kissing him._

Peter shoves against his chest, instinct kicking in as his heart starts to race. The surprise has Tony stumbling back a bit, and it’s just enough space to let him scramble back and put even more between them. “ _Dad!_ ” he shouts, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the _fuck_?!” Tony gives him a level look, eyebrow raising.

“Language, Peter,” he scolds. Peter gapes at him.

“I’m _sorry_ , but you just _kissed me!_ ” Tony sighs and rolls his eyes upward, as if praying for patience, before looking back at him, that cold look returning.

“You’re _my_ son, Peter. And a murderer now.” He grins. “It’s in your best interest to go along with whatever I decide, isn’t it? If you do, I’ll make it good for you. It is you, after all.” Peter feels like prey ensnared in his father’s trap. Everything is screaming at him to run, to get as far away from Tony as possible, consequences be damned. He can feel his chest heaving, can feel himself hyperventilating, wonders if running will turn him into something like the corpse in the room. His throat burns with bile that he swallows back.

“We j-just killed a rapist! Why-“ Tony barks out a laugh and takes a step closer, an almost crazed look in his eye.

“You’re _mine_ , Peter.” He lunges and tugs Peter closer by a tight grip on his wrist, pressing their chests together and crowding him. “My blood, my son, my apprentice, my _victim_ , if I so choose.” He leans in and presses his nose to Peter’s temple, making him flinch and his breath hitch in fear. “I can do whatever the fuck I want with you. And you’re going to do it. Even if I have to make you want it.” The grip on his wrist tightens, and he whimpers. He weakly tugs. “Are you going to be a good little boy for Daddy?” Peter feels his eyes burn and lets out the beginnings of a sob.

Tony gentles his grip and wraps his other arm around Peter’s waist. Against his better judgement, Peter hides his face in his neck as he starts to cry. “ _Why_?” he hiccups. Tony sighs and rests his chin on his head.

“You’re _beautiful_ , Peter. Seeing you covered in blood, being mine, being the Stark you were born to be.” He gently pulls Peter’s teary face from his neck and presses their lips together. Peter sobs even as he gives in, deciding that it’s for the best to go with it (even if only to stay alive). The kiss is painfully soft, a juxtaposition to the carnage on them and behind them. It makes his stomach hurt. Tony finally lets go of his wrist to instead twist his fingers in his hair, gripping it tightly. It starts to feel like he’s devouring him, sucking what little bit of soul he has left out through the kiss. He kisses Peter like he really is his for the taking. It makes him sick.

Tony separates from him long enough to pull him over to the couch he keeps in the workshop (past the body they destroyed together), forces him to straddle his lap. The blood on them is flaking off, and Peter stares at it falling onto his father before he’s lead into another kiss. He decides to make the best of it, lets himself fall into his first sexual experience without thinking too hard about the situation, that it’s to save his life. He clumsily places his hands on Tony’s chest as the older man starts to rock their hips together, already hard and trying to awaken Peter’s cock through the rough motions.

Hands tug open his jeans, one slipping in to grip his limp cock. Tony gives him a sympathetic look that makes his stomach roll. The fondling has him getting hard (something that he refuses to blame on anything but his shitty teenage hormones and it being the first touch from another person) and bucking into his grip.

He tries not to think about the feeling of the blood on his cock.

“Up. Strip.” Peter shudders as he obeys, standing before his father and trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze as he pulls his clothes off with shaky hands. He freezes when he’s down to his underwear and hugs himself, eyes willing with tears. He shakes his head repeatedly, softly muttering _no_ over again. He flinches violently when Tony reaches for him; it makes him feel cold that it garners no reaction other than his father clicking his tongue as he pulls down Peter’s underwear. A nudge has him stepping out of them, and when Tony pulls them to his face, he has to squeeze his eyes shut as a sob hiccups out of him. “Daddy won’t hurt you Peter. It’ll be okay.” Peter lets out another sob.

The sound of Tony undoing his own pants has him staring again, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gets a look at what’s going inside of him. It’s big enough that he’s worried, that he wonders if he would want it if he wanted _this_. His father digs around in the cushions until he pulls out a bottle of lube. He doesn’t want to think about how much use that it’s gotten (nor what he was looking at while getting off). He drizzles the lube in his bloody hand, and it reinvigorates the blood enough that they mix into an off-putting color that has Peter swallowing bile back again. He slicks his cock with it, and at that point Peter has to grab a trash can and vomit into it, arm pressing into his stomach.

Tony sighs behind him and rubs his back; it only makes him shake violently instead of comforting him. “Calm down, baby boy.” Peter nods and dry heaves a few times before he’s lead back to the couch and water is pressed to his lips. He chugs it, drains the bottle so fast he’s panting with it. Tony lays him down on the couch, spreads his legs so that one foot is on the ground and his other leg is hooked over the back of the couch. Peter blushes and hides his face behind his arm, flaccid cock twitching at being so exposed despite the situation. _What’s the matter with me?_

Slick fingers press at his hole, making him jump and squeak in shock. A soft chuckle has him looking at his dad; he almost looks like he’s fondly looking down on Peter, and he knows that if he tried hard enough, he could forget the situation just for a second.

A finger pressing inside of him shatters the illusion before it can fully form.

His breath hitches as it spreads him open, burns from the stretch of something inside of him for the first time. He clenches and squirms as a protesting whine leaves his lips. “I know sweetheart, I know.” Tony rubs his stomach with his free hand as he gently thrusts the finger, wiggling it around and spreading the lube. Something inside has him reaching for his father, hand circling his wrist as he tries to breathe through the intrusion.

“ _I’m scared_.” Tony pecks him on the lips and weighs him down a little, letting Peter wrap himself around him as much as he can without getting in the way.

“Daddy’s here. I’ve got you.” It takes him a bit to loosen, but it isn’t much longer before another finger is pushing inside of him. He hisses and digs his nails into his father’s back. They retreat before coming back covered in more lube; the slick noises have him hiding his darkening face. “My little slut.” It sounds fond. Peter feels sick all over again.

Tony curls his fingers, pressing against his prostate and making him jolt at the unexpected pleasure, a soft cry splitting his lips. He’s practically abusing it, fingers rubbing over it like he’s getting paid. It’s too much for him, for his first touches, and an animalistic noise leaves his throat as he cums at Tony’s hands, at the hands of his parent. He makes a mess of his stomach as he shudders and shakes, body curling in on itself as whines and whimpers leave his throat.

“That’s it,” Tony coos, not letting up. “Feels good doesn’t it?” Peter just chokes out a pained moan. Tony lets up enough for him to relax through the rest of the stretching, little pin pricks of pleasure making him squirm. He’s almost delirious with the experience. Can almost forget. The fingers leave, and he lets out a noise of protest before he can catch up with himself and stop it. Tony’s slicking up his cock again, Peter can tell that much, before it nudges at his hole. Peter tightens his grip and stares at him with wide eyes. It hits him hard, for the first time, that he’s really about to lose his virginity to his father.

“Please,” his voice cracks as his eyes well up again. “Please don’t, Daddy.” Tony presses a paternal kiss to his forehead.

“It’s okay, Peter. I love you.” He forces his way in with a solid thrust, not stopping until he bottoms out. The scream that he tears out of Peter’s throat echoes off the walls of the lab. He draws blood as he digs his nails into his back, drags them down and leaves behind bloody lines. Even with the prep, the pain is blinding, and he’s openly sobbing from it. His chest heaves as he chokes on his tears, Tony shushing him and pressing kisses to his forehead even as he starts thrusting. Peter doesn’t get to adjust; his father _takes_ , just like he said he could, he _would_.

It hurts, the weight of it, the pain of it, the violation. Everything hurts and yet he has nowhere else to turn but his father (his rapist, _oh God_ ) when he seeks out comfort on auto pilot. He sobs into his father as he shakes with the force of his thrusts, barely comprehends the sounds of pleasure above him (he thinks he hears “slut” and “precious”, but he tries not to think about it lest he throw up all over them). He only knows that it’s over when the thrusts stutter to a stop, pressing painfully deep into him, when heat floods his insides and makes him feel as though he’s burning alive.

Tony pants above him, curled over him and almost cradling him. “D-Daddy,” he sobs, vision going spotty as everything catches up to him. “Hurts. _Hurts._ ” Fingers run through his hair.

“You made Daddy so proud Peter.” Lips to his forehead. “So proud. I love you so much, Peter. So much.”

Peter just sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> Feels good man. So good. This was pretty fucked up. Anyway, kudos and comments always welcome. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
